We were just eleven. You came to the cabin in the woods next to ours, a vacation from your home in the sparkly city of Hollywood. Your head was full of imagination, and you led the way in our adventures. I always followed.

You were the fearless one. The one to jump off the bridge that crossed over Webhanet River. I wanted to capture every moment of that summer. You had the smile to light up that small town brighter than the sun. I didn’t want you to leave.

You promised me you’d be back the next summer. I made you pinky promise.

You left me with a pinwheel spinning in the breeze.

~~~

We were just eighteen. While I was headed off to college in the fall, you were going to be in a movie. A big movie. A starring role. We all knew you were going to be a star someday.

You were giddy with excitement. We had a party to celebrate. Your mom brought potato salad. My mom made brownies. The whole neighborhood came.

My father popped open a bottle of champagne and we toasted to your success.

You left me with starry eyes and the taste of your lips on mine.

~~~

We were just twenty.

You were a big celebrity now. Girls screaming your name, paparazzi following your every move, dozens and dozens of blogs dedicated to you. You were the new Hollywood It Boy. Your future was bright, just like your smile.

I was living in New York. Doing things. We met for coffee.

I gave you tickets to my upcoming gallery. You never showed up.

You left me with your autograph and a quick peck on the cheek.

~~~

We were just twenty-one.

You got into some trouble last year. A DUI, a trip to rehab, a scuffle with paparazzi. It was just a minor bump, and your life continued on. We met up again, this time in a restaurant with steaks the same price as a couch and salads with names like ‘Sweet Arugula and Pear Passion’ We ate outside so the paparazzi could get pictures of you.

I had a boyfriend. You had a fiancé. One of your costars. I could tell by the way you talked about her that you didn’t love her.
You sold your soul to Hollywood.

You left me with the invitation to the wedding. I didn’t go.

~~~

We were just twenty-two.

A D-List celebrity.

Rehab addict.

Alcoholic.

Attention hungry.

The magazines aren’t very nice to you, are they?

You showed up at my apartment, dirty and tired and anxious. Tears marked your face.

<i>Why are you here? I ask.

I love you. </i>

You repeated it over and over, even when I told you to stop. I told you to leave. I called the cops on you. I felt bad, but only for a minute.

Hollywood ruined you.

~~~

I was just twenty-three.

Your “friend” found you. You overdosed, and then choked on your vomit. At least, that’s what the coroner said. What a great way to go out.

Hollywood cried for you.

Too Young to Die.

Where Did It All Go Wrong?

We Will Miss You

I didn’t think I cared. But when the funeral happened, with your mother crying and the flowers and the black clothing and I saw you in the casket, I realized I did. I cared a lot.

You lost that sparkle in your eyes.

I think I’ll miss that most.